Betrayed. Don Pendleton

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      “Five,” Brognola said.

      “Say again.”

      “Mahoud has a son, Rafiq, who just turned eighteen. He’s a student at Southern Cal, and according to information the kid is a high achiever.”

      “In that case I’m going to need an assist. Even I can’t stretch myself between Afghanistan and California.”

      “Yeah, I figured you’d say that so I pulled Carl’s name out of the hat. He’s on standing down at the moment, visiting a friend in Oregon. That puts him the closest to California. I’ll contact him.”

      “So when do I get my flight plan?”

      “I’m waiting for the President to pass me details,” Brognola replied. “When Mahoud spoke with him, he said one man would be waiting to guide you in to where Mahoud is in hiding. One of the few of his countrymen Mahoud trusts not to betray him.”

      “Kind of putting his head into the lion’s jaws, isn’t it? What if this guy isn’t as loyal as Mahoud believes?”

      “Mahoud does trust this guy. Enough to put his life in his hands. He’ll take you to Mahoud, then it’s down to you to make sure the man and his family gets safely to the U.S. base for his extract. You bring him out and stay with him until the conference. Stony Man will provide backup and whatever you need. President’s orders. You have full control on this mission.”

      Bolan raised the file. “Time for me to read up on Mahoud and his family.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      Greg Marino checked the temperature and humidity of the Spanish cedarwood humidor. Satisfied it was steady at the required sixty-five degrees and seventy percent humidity, he removed one of the nine-inch Grand Corona cigars. He returned to his leather recliner and proceeded to cut the tip from the thick cigar, then took his time lighting it with a wooden match. He took a slow draw, allowing the mellow aroma to suffuse the length of the cigar, relaxing as the tendrils of tobacco smoke wreathed around him. Next to great sex, what he got from the cigar was the closest to perfection he could imagine.

      Reaching for the phone, he hit a speed-dial number and waited for pickup. He recognized the subdued voice instantly.

      “Grover, I just had the call from Dane,” Marino said. “We’re up. Let’s do it, buddy.”

      “Okay. I’ll call Kate and have her push the kid’s buttons.” He chuckled. “The sap won’t know what’s hit him til it’s too late.”

      “Keep me posted,” Marino said. “I’ll be leaving for the cabin in a couple of hours, so use my cell number.”

      “Will do.”

      Marino ended the call. He leaned back in the recliner, deciding to finish the cigar before he left. After all, he decided, good things should never be rushed. The deal was under way. His team would make it work, so he had nothing to concern himself with for a while.

      RAFIQ MAHOUD SPOTTED the young woman the moment he stepped out of the science building. He weaved his way between the other exiting students and made directly for her. As far as Rafiq was concerned, she could have been the only other person on campus. His full attention was focused on her.

      His Callie. Blond and blue-eyed. A toned, supple figure. Clad in pale blue shorts, extremely short, and an equally skimpy stretch T-shirt. She was, as far as Rafiq was concerned, the ideal California girl.

      His girl.

      She made sure he understood that at every opportunity, and especially when they were alone. Just thinking about those times made him blush.

      Callie waved as he caught her eye, her smile bright and caring. He might not have spoken it out loud, but Rafiq’s emotions were in a turmoil. They always were when he was in her presence. In a word, she captivated him. From the first day he had met her, the delightful blonde had him wrapped around her little finger, and he loved every moment.

      “Hi,” she said when Rafiq reached her side.

      “Hi, yourself. I almost didn’t get clear. Some of the guys wanted to get together and chill. Took me a while to break away.”

      “Last thing I want is you chilling out.” She laughed. “I want you hot.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Very hot. Especially for this weekend. Or had you forgotten?”

      As they moved along the sidewalk, heading for the parking area and Rafiq’s two-year-old SUV, he shook his head.

      “My stuff is already in the truck. What about you?”

      Callie showed him the backpack over her left shoulder. “Everything I need is in here.”

      “It doesn’t look like much.”

      “Enough for what we’re going to be doing.”

      “You are a terrible woman.”

      “It’s why you like me.”

      “Yeah? And for a few other things.”

      When they reached his vehicle, Rafiq unlocked it and Carrie threw her backpack on the rear seat alongside his own. She climbed in and waited as he joined her. He started the engine and reversed out of the slot, raising a hand to a passing group of students. Then he drove out of the lot and negotiated his way along the feeder road until they were on the highway.

      “Let’s go, cowboy,” Carrie said, reaching to click on the radio.

      Rafiq pushed down on the gas pedal and boosted the SUV up a notch.

      He was feeling good. It was a beautiful day. The weekend was coming up and he was alone with the most fantastic woman he had ever known. Things couldn’t get any better.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      The Air Force plane touched down late afternoon and Mack Bolan stepped back onto Afghanistan soil. Already dressed in military combat fatigues and boots, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, picked up his heavy hold-all, and crossed the dusty field to meet the Hummer speeding out to pick him up.

      Beyond the military base the inhospitable Afghanistan landscape glowered beneath an empty sky. There were few clouds. It was hot and dusty, with the ever present dry wind soughing down off the higher hills. Underfoot the ground was hard and stony, with little vegetation other than isolated clumps of brittle grass.

      The Hummer rolled to a stop a few feet away. The uniformed figure stepping out from behind the wheel nodded at Bolan. The guy was young, Bolan’s height. Lean and burned brown from the sun.

      “Mr. Cooper.”

      “I’ll be out of your hair ASAP, Lieutenant Pearson,” Bolan said, reading the man’s uniform name tag.

      He understood the sometimes reluctance of the military to have to nursemaid civilians in their midst. They had enough on their hands, and Mack Bolan had no desire to add to their problems.

      The officer smiled, said, “I don’t suppose СКАЧАТЬ